


Mint And Magic

by CalamityCain



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Chocolate, Dom/sub, Light Bondage, M/M, Mythology References, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6041659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of food and sex and a hint of sorcery...</p>
<p>Written for Sophie (songsofcatharsis.tumblr.com), who gifted me with two very good bars of mint dark chocolate that became the muse for this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mint And Magic

~

He had a sweet tooth and a biting tongue, and the haughty bearing of an old-world aristocrat, except for when he slid a smooth white hand up Tony’s thigh and offered himself up with a litany of submissive velvet whispers.

 

Of course he knew precisely what he wanted. And of course Tony wasn’t going to give it to him.

 

Not unless he did… _ahh,_ just that.

 

“Ten percent,” Tony grunted.

 

“Twelve.”

 

“Ten is all you’re getting. Nine if you keep pestering me.”

 

His cock was hard enough that it needed no help springing free from the tailored grey slacks. Soft lips begged to take it in.

 

“Make me choke on it.”

 

With that familiar heat swelling in his loins, he gripped a fistful of black hair. “There’s no guarantee you’re getting anything from this. Understand?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Tony thrust deep into the warm waiting hole, taking an almost savage delight in the gagging, helpless sound that lasted just a second or two. Then the reedy razor-sharp brat was sucking cock like he was born for it. No matter how much force was inflicted upon him, he took it in pliant, delicious silence, except when a more vocal performance was demanded of him.

 

He gave as good as he got, except when it came to keeping regular hours at the cake shop or not throwing a tantrum when the espresso machine acted up. If anyone needed some good disciplining, it was Loki. Loki the diva. Loki the opportunist. Who was all ice and sugar and spice, and anything but nice.

 

“Pull down your pants and bend over,” Tony told him after he came with a jerk in that delicious mouth that swallowed and lapped and licked obediently.

 

Loki got into position, and Tony bit back a smile. The little slut had known what was coming and dressed for the occasion. He slowly, deliberately slid down the clingy lace panties; they were already wet.

 

By the fifth strike of the paddle, they were back to twelve percent. By the twentieth, the raise had inched to fifteen.

 

Tony didn’t stop until the first ragged sob. Loki didn’t beg – not once.

 

He didn't need to. By the time his punishment ended, he had negotiated a good twenty percent without breathing a word.

 

“Put your panties back on. And don’t you dare show up late tomorrow.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He showed up nearly – though not quite – late. But he was prompt and polite the whole day, and Tony threw him an approving glance every so often. (It helped that the apron did little to hide the appealing lines of his taut body that was just a little on the gaunt side, but in a way that filled those skinny jeans nicely.)

 

Toward the end of his shift, he got away with small moments of mischief, like licking smears of frosting off his fingers and sneaking sips of hot chocolate when he thought no one was looking. Or perhaps he did, and did not care.

 

However much he got caught filching, though, things always seemed to add up in the end. Tony could have sworn he once swiped two whole cupcakes from the batch, only to count a full tray where seconds ago there had been an obvious gap.

 

He was partial to the mint-and-chocolate ones; Tony knew that. Rich, dark chocolate, almost black against their crisp white paper holders, topped with pale green peppermint fresh cream. The Christmas editions would be extra fancy with crimson and gold flecks or blood-red marzipan berries – but they were well-beloved enough unadorned, flying from the shelf at top speed.

 

It had happened, Tony realised, with Loki’s arrival. Without tampering at all with the recipe, those cupcakes had gained an added richness, the mint an added bite (like his tongue when provoked).

 

The other cakes followed suit, though never quite as sensationally as the mint-chocolates; then the other pastries, down to the last common dinner roll. Those rolls were soon done away with as Tony decided to concentrate on the more exotic offerings. Danish puffs pulled and sculpted into spiralling sugar-dusted wonders, cinnamon buns that hid a tantalising hint of salted caramel within their folds, golden ganache cups, delicate buttery tarts, coconut-infused biscotti, and seasonal creations like Halloween pumpkin-spiced puffs shaped like actual miniature pumpkins.

 

He couldn’t help but feel that Loki had something to do with all this. Nevermind that each and every idea had been his – but then, Loki did help execute many of them, and masterfully too for someone who claimed to have little experience in the pastry business.

 

Tony did not believe in intimate relations between employer and employee. Except for when he found himself balls-deep in that writhing, arching body as bewitching as the confectioneries spun by those long fingers.

 

Their lovemaking was long and slow, or hard and fast. Tony could be as animalistic and abusive as he could be a gentleman. He was never sure which Loki preferred.

 

“Tony?” That siren song of a voice, just short of breathy. “We’re all out of whipped cream.”

 

“I’m sure we can whip up some more,” Tony replied, not at all suggestively.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was easy to forget how tall he was. Outside of the bakery, he seemed to spend most of their time together on his knees. Even so, it was sometimes hard to tell who was keeping whom in place.

 

Tony tugged on the slender leash, just to make sure. It was brand new and the leather left a strong scent on his fingers. Leather became Loki well; hence the matching gag silencing the lips that for once could not spew artful sarcasm at will. The sharp eyes, however, followed him keenly around the room, wild and watchful even under their lowered lashes.

 

He seemed especially elemental on wintry days. A sprite of ice and fire. On this chilly night that should make his naked shoulders shiver, he was still and alert, quick to obey but never losing his feline grace.

 

Tony spent the next two hours slowly breaking him down. Willing him to be as pliable as raw flour being kneaded into submission. The gleaming plug holding him open, the phallic gag occupying his mouth, filled him thoroughly from both ends and ensured a heightened state of torment – of the particular brand of pleasure enjoyed by them both – with every stroke and smack and pinch.

 

Each orgasm was drawn out, denied, dangled like a prize that was barely granted, and only with the right amount of begging. The pink wayward mouth was freed only to render service or be degraded in new ways, from licking Tony’s boots to cleaning his own come off the floor.

 

When Tony was done with him, he was breathless and boneless and flushed, angular face softened, tear-streaked. And yet when his mouth met Tony’s, he was as ardent and spirited as ever. No matter how still he held himself, something beneath his skin positively prickled. Tingled like the first bite of early frost. And when he went down on Tony’s aching cock, his breath was hot but his tongue felt like snow, just for a second.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was a fine crisp morning on the day the magic died.

 

A cool stiff breeze tickled pallid cheeks pink and stirred dormant appetites, perfect for selling warm golden pastries and piping hot brews. Except both customer and confection seemed to lack spark and flavour. On that day, people came and left in a hurry. No hungry eyes lingered on the offerings in the window. No frowns lifted at the first whiff of freshly-ground beans.

 

The mint-and-chocolate cupcakes still sold. But the hands that reached for them were mechanical, lacking the usual childish eagerness. The cinnamon buns went cold on their rack. The meringue macarons in the window remained artfully stacked where Loki would usually find himself having to rearrange them for the umpteenth time.

 

They did not need restacking this time, and Loki was not around to stack them.

 

Loki was nowhere to be found.

 

Tony would have been mad as hell if he wasn’t more anxious. He ended up watching the window with the tics and bobs of a nervous mother hen. The barista Clint rolled his eyes and held his tongue at his boss’ behaviour. He’d had his suspicions on the nature of Tony’s relationship with Loki for a while, and it was especially hard to resist commenting on it today.

 

“Diva finally quit the café gig for his Broadway debut?” he said at last. Tony made an effort to smile at the small quip. It looked more like a grimace.

 

“You know what, fuck him. He can take that pert little ass and wiggle it at someone else. I wish him the best selling it for a better price.”

 

“He did have a sorta magic touch with those cupcakes,” Clint remarked. “Pity.”

 

Tony glared at nothing in particular for a bit before leaving in a huff.

 

Half an hour and a long walk later, the emptiness sank in. He felt torn between cursing the air – cursing Loki and every memory of him, every ink-black hair on his head – and just closing down the entire business to disappear into his overwhelming sense of hopelessness for a while.

 

Shutting his eyes, he could see those teasing thin lips that wrapped themselves around a cock as effortlessly as they spilt caustic yet terribly witty jokes that livened up closing time at the end of a hectic day. Jokes he would now miss as much as the cool long fingers on his lap and the glass-sharp eyes looking up at him, wordlessly asking permission to provide the pleasure they both indulged in with equal intensity. Each giving as much as they took.

 

He found himself, without consciously heading there, in a small expensive-looking candy store. No; that was the wrong term. Candy stores were for kids with loose change in their pockets. This was a chocolatier’s boutique, where garish stripes and the promise of sugar were replaced by modestly packaged pleasures at less-than-modest prices.

 

A selection of samples lay in dainty glass baubles that seemed to float in the air. Tony picked up an exquisitely rippled truffle and popped it in his mouth.

 

The taste was – well, it was marvellous. The rippled surface melted into silken waves and released bursts of ripe dark flavour into every corner of his mouth, underlaid with the cool sharp rush of peppermint.

 

“I knew you would like it,” said a velvet voice.

 

“You’re an asshole.”

 

“Hmm, but you like assholes. Literally and figuratively.”

 

He wanted to slap the smirk from Loki’s tone, but the stunning sight before him overpowered his anger. Gone were the skinny jeans and hipster tees; in its place was an immaculate black raw-silk shirt, unbuttoned just enough to expose a triangle of bare skin above which a narrow green scarf was knotted. Narrow black pants ended in gleaming leather ankle boots. He looked lean, more than a little mean, but also incredibly… ‘expensive’ came to mind, though Tony knew it was not the right word. He looked _otherworldly._ A fae prince, a demi-god, in mortal clothing that both perfectly fit his surroundings while setting him apart from it.

 

Tony looked around the small, tasteful interior, noticing subtle yet whimsical details he’d missed at first: reliefs of magnolias and ravens, black and white like the rest of the shop. The goods of the shelves were packaged in muted earthy colours with small touches of gold.

 

“Here. A parting gift.” A similar box was presented to him. A small one, barely filling both his hands. It was matte black with fine curlicues embossed into the surface. Lifting the lid revealed chocolate cubes wrapped in malachite-green foil that matched the shade of Loki’s scarf.

 

He looked down at it for a long time, then up at the inscrutable eyes. “What made you leave – no, actually, what made you come in the first place?” He shook his head. “What was the point of it all? You got bored and decided to work in a pastry shop just for kicks?”

 

“Perhaps. Does my reason make a difference, knowing I won’t return?”

 

Tony paused before answering with another question. “You won’t return…ever? I mean, you know, outside of the shop?” He grinned wryly as Loki winked in response.

 

“Oh, I daresay we had too much fun for me not to consider _that_.”

 

A slight movement behind Loki’s shoulder caught Tony’s eye. From its place on the wall, a black raven winked at him with its golden eye.

 

He shook his head, blinked; but instead of erasing the vision, new details and subtle movements revealed themselves. From blossoming magnolia petals to walls that seemed more liquid than solid, to the shifting reflections in the black-and-white tiles… His gaze fixated on those tiles, trying to make out the constantly changing images. A raven that was a twin of the one on the wall. A large silver fish darting away. A one-eyed man.

 

And Loki’s own sharp pale visage. Except his hair was not a dark well-groomed mane but wild, and red like fire.

 

The reflection smiled at him almost softly before fading into smoke.

 

A sudden stiff breeze hit him. When Tony looked up, he was standing outside the chocolate shop. Or where the shop had been. He stumbled and almost fell as his senses struggled to reorientate themselves.

 

Had he been hallucinating? The box in his hand seemed to suggest otherwise. He lifted the lid. The chocolates were still there.

 

He unwrapped one of them, slid it onto his tongue.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_The taste of mortal flesh is always dizzying no matter how many times he samples it. In a rush of liquid silk he slides along the slick surface, at once smooth and rough, leaving a trace of ice in his wake._

_He wonders if he will lose his self entirely as he is devoured and dissolved, licked and divided into minute slivers. The sensation is as erotic as it is dangerous – being reduced to a smear, a remnant of flavour, then a moment, then a memory._

_The brand of magic he had used is self-replicating, to be sure. The box will never empty. Each cube in its vivdi green wrapper perpetually regenerating like a tree that sprouts new fruit for every plucked one. But there is a risk of becoming what humans call a clone. A shadow, a copy that may exist long after the original has been whittled away to nothing._

_It is a risk he takes each time a piece of him disappears into Tony’s mouth. After a lifetime of being, he is testing the limits of immortality._

_Would it be his last great shapeshifting trick? Only time would tell. Time, and the warmth of the mouth that held him closer than they had ever been in their most intimate explorations._

_Chocolate. Chaos. Fire. Ice._

_All these things are temporary. The memory of pleasure would outlive them all._

_Ahh, to be sucked on for all eternity._

 

_~_


End file.
